


Genet

by ZoinksSc00b



Series: Atiniir [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Double-aging stops at 20, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Secret Identity, The canon timeline is gone, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27521353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoinksSc00b/pseuds/ZoinksSc00b
Summary: Kallus was praying for the family he was creating to be better than the one he left. It did help that, for some unknown reason, Garazeb trusted him enough to be ecstatic about their little surprise. However, nothing can stop the past from rearing its ugly head.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Series: Atiniir [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793929
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	Genet

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is iputtheaceindisgrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know who you are...this is for you.

One of the first memories Kallus had was of his carrier humming an energetic melody as they held him against their chest. The soft but deep tone of the crooning was among the few things left unhazy by early consciousness. Another was the broken smile that graced their face before they set him down in his cot. The warmth of their embrace being replaced by the cold of the room made him whimper while he reached out for them. Gentle coos had begun to fill the room as soon as they complied and pressed a tender kiss on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Alexsandr," was how they whispered goodbye, tears welling up in their eyes that had nearly made him start bawling in reciprocation.

He remembered how they never returned, but Kallus at least had the unforgotten tune and the sound of their voice even if it did make him loathe the use of his name.

His father rarely talked about them unless it was necessary for whatever insult he wished to throw out at their expense. It seemed most of Dima Kallus' problems had been caused by his child's conception and the handsome, young carrier who had caught his eye. According to him, if it hadn't been for his whore of a mother spreading their legs and getting knocked up, he would have been living on a reliable paycheck rather than whatever was coughed up on the lower levels of Coruscant. Their apartment was smaller than the dreams Dima held before Kallus.

But, Kallus could deduce that Dima still loved the man who had carried his baby despite frequently cursing their existence. There had been a few occasions when he was a child where his father would sit him on his lap while he spun stories and images over whom the man in the faint recollections was. A person who cared for Dima and Kallus dearly but had been taken away from them by the Republic and its cruelty.

Many of the traits that Dima hated in Kallus were adored in his carrier: hazel eyes that shone when he was delighted, a competency which had been practically genetic, and an adaptability and self-reliance that kept him from bending to the wills of others. Kallus was annoyingly stubborn, inhuman, and his eyes were far too lifeless to have any relation to his mother. (Of course, there was the inheritance that made his father's blood boil and veins pop. Kallus had been deprived of his childhood in a way similar to his carrier and he could recall his father blankly reciting past arguments with an invisible figure. His carrier had promised that he wouldn't be like they were, but they hadn't stuck around long enough to be proven wrong.). Yet, these were the moments where Kallus understood why Dima hadn't abandoned him.

He was the last remaining piece of his only love.

His father had never hidden his distaste of the government they resided under, and it simply worsened as the war started to drag. Kallus could still feel the firm grip of fingers digging into his shoulders, drawing blood and leaving bruises, after he asked Dima about his view on the clone troopers. Standing stock-still, he had listened carefully to every word that his father murmured in a calm and unwavering tone. If his sight diverted from the dead stare (Dima refused to let the eyes of his past lover ignore him) or his sniffling began to drown out the message, the fingers would start inching further into his skin.

His father warned him to never mention the subhuman replicas of Jango Fett ever again because they were little more than cannon fodder for a needless war.

Kallus didn't dare bring up the flimsi his father burned later that night in his quarters and how his body trembled as he gave a final glimpse of the photos on them. He almost seemed kind in those minutes. His normally dry face had been stained as Kallus watched from behind the door frame, no breaths dared to escape in fear of alerting Dima of his presence. He did, however, manage a quick peek of what his father was examining; he caught a glimpse of hazel eyes much like his own that came to life in the photo with their vibrancy and a subtle shift of hues which was apparent even in the still image. The fact that a younger version of his father kissing their cheek was the source of this light was unthinkable.

There had been long periods during his life where he had blamed every downfall on his carrier: times where he had made them more of a symbol than the human they once were. They were everything he couldn't be from his father's view and he was probably right. Maybe an obsession over the blurred face in his dreams had been what drove him during his time at academy.

Or maybe it was the notion of his father that had trickled down until Kallus found himself relieved when the Empire was established.

He mused over his mother often during his time away from home. It was easier to think of them as the voice humming softly in that time than the martyr his father mourned. It was easier to not be as angry without Dima. Somehow, those years were the closest he had ever felt to the fading figure. He began grasping at any thread that could give him clarity, and he finally hit it after hours of studying a mammalian anatomy and physiology textbook for a class he couldn't have cared less about after his epiphany.

_Lasats_.

His carrier had Lasat ancestry.

As the textbook had claimed, Lasats were of the few mammalian species where biological males were able to carry children.

He didn't know if it was ignorance or fear that had kept him from acknowledging this fact, but he felt that he had known it for longer than he realized. It was as if it was another story his father had told him that had been promptly locked away when harsh comments followed.

Nevertheless, he threw himself into this small tidbit of information. It was his carrier's heritage, but, more importantly, it was _his_ heritage. He had never had that before (not further than accent he got from his father), so he absorbed the culture, the language, the people, and their ways because deep down it was his culture, his language, his people, and his ways. After having his carrier be this "other" his entire life, it felt amazing to have something to go off of. Having an idea of who he was, beyond a child of the lower levels who had been lucky enough to make himself deemed worthy of more, was new and exciting. Gathering and collecting information with his wits based on the little to no resources had always been a passion of his, but this was discovering a complete unknown: himself.

He conversed with an exchange student from Lasan almost daily because he was the sole student who was interested in speaking in purely Lasana with her. She had thanked him for allowing her to keep home closer than she had anticipated and he had done the same. It was through her that he learned of the Honor Guard, and he had been fascinated by the strong code of dignity the Guard (all of the Lasats really) held themselves to. They were more refined than humans gave them credit for. There was never a moment where determination left the shimmering jade of her eyes or where she allowed herself to slouch. She represented her people with a pride and grace that was evident to anyone who saw her walk into a room.

She had taught him how to braid her hair in a traditional style for her last day on Coruscant. Claiming it was a much easier task for someone with five, nimble fingers to do, Kallus had no other choice but to comply (He later found out it was a style only Lasats were supposed to learn and it had made him hug the life out of her.). Supposedly, she wanted to look somewhat nice for her parents and siblings when she arrived back home. Kallus suspected she just wished to spend a few more minutes with him.

Cording his fingers through the hair, he had noticed how it was rougher than the silky smooth fur that covered her skin. Kallus remembered how she had laughed lightly as he meticulously attempted to make the white streak in her hair (the one that ran the course of her body) glide through the deep purple of the rest. It was simple but exceedingly beautiful on her as it flowed from the top of her head to the small of her back.

Losing his friend had been difficult, but he felt nothing other than happiness as he waved her off to her ship: the braid he had woven still crisp while it lay on her shoulder.

Obviously, this was before the Empire had prohibited non-humans from entering the Royal Imperial Academy.

It wasn't long after his friend had left that Kallus found himself on the path to working for the Empire. A path that had been given to him at birth by his carrier. Of course, he didn't know how much the Empire had been controlling his life until he left it, but that would take rebuilding himself piece by broken piece.

The idea of joining the Imperial Security Bureau had been introduced to him after Wullf Yularen had taken notice of his scores and capabilities compared to the others at the academy. The man would become a type of surrogate father to Kallus because he supplied the warmth and recognition he had been searching for since his carrier abandoned him. It was through Yularen that he met Jovan. The fellow student who mentored him, practically guided to graduation during his last year, and had been a decent enough replacement in her absence (He didn't feel at all guilty for arresting Jovan later in life. He was a pretentious asshole.).

In the last year at academy, his father died, and it nearly made him drop his dream (He didn't even know if it had ever been his dream.). He had been murdered after failing to pay back the leader of a drug ring for whatever he had decided to fill the void with. It had put a stain on Kallus' reputation, and it was a miracle he hadn't been kicked out. There was already a stigma attached to him because of his upbringing in the lower levels, not even to mention his hidden biology that could also get him expelled, but his father being low-life scum somehow defined his whole character. His father had always been like that, but it had become infinitely worse when it became public knowledge.

Becoming ISB-021 after his graduation had helped him rebury his disturbed past, yet he couldn't stop the shiver of disgust that rolled down his spine every time he was referred to as a number. It was an efficient system that he didn't mind using with the troopers or himself, so he didn't understand where the visceral reaction came from. It just felt wrong.

What didn't feel wrong was his continued dedication to his carrier and the heritage they shared. He may not have his father anymore, but he had the spirit of his mother with him as he hummed their tune and made sure to stay on top of his Lasana. It wasn't hidden that he had an interest in the Lasat culture or that he was an expert in the field (the closest he could get without a degree), but no one could guess where the intrigue had originated from.

Onderon had changed everything and had turned something that he had sought comfort from into a source of hatred. Once again, he was furious at a man who couldn't defend himself.

Kallus knew how a mercenary acted after growing up with a retired one. He was familiar with the subtle ways they gloated and preened as they wrote their point in blood and ash. Leaning against the rough bark of a tree, he had watched with blurry vision as his squad was shot down with little honor and bo-rifle that had surely been stolen. They left him alive because they wondered how many credits he would sell for, sniffing the air as he did so and grinning at what he found, but backup had arrived in time. No one could understand why the retreating Lasat laughed joyfully, yet Kallus clenched his hand above his armored stomach during the entire debrief. The mercenary had asked him if he had ever carried before because first-time mothers could sell for a shiny credit.

It made him fear Lasats.

It made him fear himself.

It made him fear his carrier.

Truly, it was far from the first time that all of his turmoil had been directed at his mother. Wanting to cut himself off from them had pushed his hatred until he couldn't contain it. He became lost in the anger and disillusioned by what he saw as a better way than the Republic. It was why it was so simple to convince him to go to Lasan: he was asked because of his expertise and a loathing that made him easy to manipulate. It was closure in a way and a final goodbye, but he had never felt more disgraceful than when he made eye contact with a familiar green before it turned into a splattered red against the earth. He wondered who braided her hair this time.

In his mind, it wasn't supposed to end in genocide, and he had been to lying to himself. The Lasats wouldn't just comply with the wants of the Empire: keeping to themselves and staying out of the business of Kashyyyk. Citizens were treated as if they were fully-trained soldiers with how quick and brutal the troopers dealt with them. It was meant to end in mass death from the start, and Kallus had been a fool to listen.

He couldn't bear through the gaze of his reflection afterward because all he could recognize was the disappointed eyes of his carrier.

_What monster kills their own people?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you need to write a prologue at midnight while sleep-deprived.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is iputtheaceindisgrace


End file.
